Empathy
by Laura Schiller
Summary: Missing scene from "The Perfect Mate". What if Deanna Troi had met Kamala and confronted her about kissing Cmdr. Riker? Would jealousy or empathy win out?


Empathy

By Laura Schiller

Based on: Star Trek: The Next Generation

Copyright: Paramount/Viacom

"Come in," said Kamala, in answer to the beeping of the doors.

They whooshed open to reveal a slender, black-eyed woman with a wild cascade of brown curls tumbling down her back and a rather nervous smile on her face. Kamala could not help but feel disappointed, since it was not Captain Picard, and uneasy, since she had never gotten on well with other females. Her next reaction was acute embarrassment – the other woman was an empath like her. She could feel it.

"Hello, Kamala," said the other woman in a soft, melodious voice. "I'm Deanna Troi, ship's counselor."

Deanna, meanwhile, was likewise uneasy about meeting the seductive metamorph who had reduced Will to a stammering, red-faced schoolboy and nearly provoked a fistfight in Ten-Forward. She was here on the Captain's orders – _Ambassador Briam has her confined to her quarters,_ he'd said, signaling deep disapproval over a sentient being virtually imprisoned on his ship. _Keep her company for a while, won't you?_

It was the obvious solution – as a woman, Deanna would not be affected by Kamala's mating drive, and as a trained counselor and fellow empath, she was best suited to put the young woman at ease. Unfortunately, Deanna was in no mood to make friends; she hovered in the doorway rather awkwardly, uncertain of what to say next that would be both truthful and polite.

The metamorph saved her the trouble by standing up from the dark-red sofa, facing her eye to eye, and saying bluntly: "I can tell by your expression that you resent me, Counselor. If I have come across a lover of yours, please believe me when I tell you I did not mean to steal him away."

Will had mentioned that the girl was direct, but such bluntness made Deanna step back and take a breath before replying. It was a relief, however, to get this off your chest.

"Oh? So you didn't mean to tell him the intimate details of a metamorph's sexual development, then give him two kisses so remarkable he had to work off steam in the holodeck for half an hour?"

Kamala ducked her curly head, embarrassed again, and interrupted before Deanna could add that Will was not her lover in any case. "Commander Riker? Oh yes, I see...but that was a different me, Counselor. It's just what I was explaining to him – during my current stage, the Finis'ral, I adapt to the desires of every man who comes near me. It's a natural reflex – I have no control over it. For any distress I might have caused you, Counselor, I am truly sorry."

Her voice and mind rang with sincerity; standing there in that flimsy gray dress with her arms wrapped around her, she looked so fragile that Deanna felt her grudge melting away. Once the full impact of Kamala's statement hit her, moreoever, her eyes snapped open in sudden disbelief.

"You mean, that happens with _any_ man? Even someone immoral or...?"

"I've never met anyone like that, but...in theory, yes."

Kamala, herself troubled by the implications of what she had just said, shivered a little. "I always had my bodyguards," she explained. "My teachers and domestic staff were screened by the planetary government...I was very sheltered. The chance of me encountering a man with...criminal intentions...was nearly impossible. It never worried me." _Until now,_ was the unspoken addition.

Deanna's imagination raced to present her with haunting images. Suppose Kamala fell into the hands of a spy or a criminal? He could make her reveal vital secrets, steal or murder without lifting a finger. For an abusive man, she might become a rug to trample on. Suddenly Ambassador Briam's decree made a great deal more sense; it had to be for Kamala's own protection as much as for the convenience of the crew.

"May I sit down?" Deanna found herself asking, before her knees could give way.

"Of course." Kamala gestured to a rounded chair opposite the sofa. Deanna sat.

"I never realized..." said the counselor softly, shaking her head. "I had you pictured as some sort of...man-eater, as humans say. It's my turn to apologize, Ms. Kamala."

"No offense taken." Kamala smiled wryly. "And there's no need to pity me, Counselor, though I appreciate your concern. Once I have bonded with Chancellor Alric, I'll stop metamorphosing – I will be _his_ perfect mate and no one else's."

She meant to reassure both Deanna and herself with that speech, but the words 'perfect mate' caused her face to cloud over in spite of herself. Her clsped hands whitened briefly at the knuckles; she was trying to hold something back, to shield it from Deanna's empathy.

The girl's distress reminded her of the pang of disappointment she had sensed at the opening of the doors. It had the same quality - a low, throbbing, bitter sort of ache. Putting two and two together, a sunbeam of pity escaped from Deanna before she could hold it back.

_The poor thing. She's in love with someone else. She must have expected _him_ to open the door instead of me. And the only people authorized to visit her are the elderly Ambassador and – _

_Oh, my. The Captain!_

Deanna sighed. Instead of encouraging Kamala to follow her heart, which she dearly longed to do, she had to keep quiet or risk breaking the Prime Directive. And she knew that if she probed further, it would only cause the girl more pain.

For a moment, she saw herself in Kamala's shoes. About five years ago, Deanna had narrowly escaped an arranged marriage herself; if not for the groom's decision to break the engagement, she might have seen the last of the _Enterprise_, or Will for that matter, right then. There would be no such luck for the young metamorph, however; the populations of two worlds depended on her union with a man she had never met.

"Ms. Kamala," she said in her warmest, most comforting manner, "It's been my pleasure talking with you. You're a beautiful person, outside _and_ inside; remember that."

Kamala tilted her head and frowned. "But how can that be, Counselor? I _have_ no personality right now; there is nobody here to bring one out."

Deanna reached over and squeezed the younger woman's hand. "Wrong," she said, smiling. "There's you."

Kamala glowed with gratitude like a slim crescent moon, her dark eyes smiling. The glow was like cool water on Deanna's face as they said their goodbyes and let the doors slide shut between them.


End file.
